


Song of Soay

by Batwynn



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bar fights, Dark, Dresses, Humor, Lies, M/M, Magic, Merloki, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Ocean, Pirates, Sailing, Spies, Thor might be a god, but he's still stupid sometimes, mermaid - Freeform, merman, piratetony, short jokes, traitorous behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batwynn/pseuds/Batwynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthony stark was not someone you wanted to get in an argument with, nor was he one you wished to go into battle against. He was a pirate, after all. After his crew gains a new member and sails home to the island Soay, he starts to get the feeling something suspicious is going on. But before he can investigate further, Anthony is pulled into the depths of the ocean by a creature with the same eyes as that stranger he once saw in Soay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of two.
> 
> The cover art can be found here: http://batwynn.tumblr.com/image/81251873655

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ This has been abandoned ]

 

 

Anthony stark was not someone you wanted to get in an argument with, nor was he one you wished to go into battle against. Because Anthony was a dirty fighter, one to kick sand in your eyes and hit you when you were down. He would stab you in the back, poison your ale, and most definitely say something horrible about your mother. But, that sort of came with the job. He was a pirate, after all.

  
  


"Are you sure you want to be doing that, sir?"

  
  


"I'm more than sure, Jarvis, old mate," Anthony replied easily, leaning back to test the rope. "I always say, why walk when you can fly?"

  
  


With a wild grin, he swung across the gap between ships, narrowly missing the shrouds and ending up landing face first into the fore sail.

  
  


"Ooph!"

  
  


"A good, soft landing, sir!" Jarvis called out merrily from the wheel.

  
  


Anthony muttered several colorful swears under his breath as he slid down the sail, his fingers burning against the canvas. He hit the boom hard and held on for dear life as several angry shouts from below that let him know his presence had been noticed.

  
  


"Who the bloody 'ell is that?!"

  
  


"He can't be a pirate, he's so _little_..."

  
  


Anthony's head snapped around, his eyes narrowing at the group of British Naval officers. He mentally critiqued their stupid long stockings and their ridiculous wigs before asking the important question.

  
  


"Is this the Sprightly?"

  
  


"No," The senior officer replied, looking more amused, " this is the Fiona, on our way to the isles. Who are you, sir?"

  
  


"The Fiona?"

  
  


"Yes, that is her name."

  
  


"Consarn it!" Anthony cursed, squinting back over at his ship. Jarvis was still at the wheel, and several mates of his small crew were still waiting for his signal.

  
  


Curse it all, he still had an image to uphold. But, if the ship was traveling light, he wouldn't waste his men's lives so easily.

  
  


"What is she carrying?" He addressed the younger, stupider looking man below him.

  
  


"Um, we have—"

  
  


"Do not answer him, Lieutenant!" The older officer snapped, pushing the lad back to stand under Anthony. "You there! Get off our ship before we clap you in irons!"

  
  


Anthony grinned down between his dangling legs at the man's wig. "You sure you want to stand there, mate?"

  
  


The man tilted his head and frowned, glancing back at the younger crew members in confusion.

  
  


"Yeah, I didn't think so," Anthony said as he let go of the boom and landed on the man's shoulders. The loud squawk he let out almost satisfied Anthony's hunger for revenge. But he had called him 'short', so he stole his wig and punched in him the face a few times.

  
  


The other officers stood there with startled expressions well after Anthony had brought their already unconscious commander down. He hit the deck with a loud thud that seemed to stir the others into action at last. With a collective shout, they pulled their swords free and attacked him.

  
  


"Hah! What is this, the dark ages?" Anthony shouted, dropping the wig onto his head and pulling out a pair of long muzzled pistols. He aimed and watched as each man faltered to a stop, their eyes glued on the gleaming golden barrels held up in their faces.

  
  


"I do not _want_ to shoot you, because I value my bullets and I don't want blood on my shirt," Anthony drawled, a smirk forming on his face, "but I _will,_ if I must."

  
  


The youngest, and most frightened, dropped his sword immediately and started glancing between his fellow officers and the pistols. Anthony knew there were others on board, probably sleeping off a late night of drinking. Speed was key in taking over a ship, and he had already dawdled long enough.

  
  


"Drop those blades, or feast on lead," he commanded, taking a step closer. The men paled and, with shaking hands, each dropped their swords to the deck.

  
  


"Good, now jump."

  
  


"What?" One of the lieutenants asked.

  
  


Anthony gestured to the railing and grinned. "Off you go."

  
  


"Don't be daft! We are not jumping off this—"

  
  


"Jump or get shot," Anthony reminded them in a pleasant voice.

  
  


All three men gave him him nervous looks before heading over to the railing and pulling themselves up.

  
  


"This is _ludicrous_ ," one muttered, looking down at the water far below. "I shan't do it."

  
  


Anthony blinked at him and gave a shrug before stepping forward and pushing him off. The man squealed and tumbled down, down, down into the water. The splash was music to his ears.

  
  


"Alright, now are the rest of you man enough to leap yourselves?" Anthony's eyes narrowed adding, "or do you need assistance?"

  
  


"No! No, we are fine."

  
  


The second one glanced between the water and Anthony a few times before crouching down to dive off the side.

  
  


Anthony whistled and yelled, "do a flip!"

  
  


He heard a curse before the second splash and chuckled to himself. The last, and still the youngest, stood awkwardly, looking terrified.

  
  


"Are you hungry, lad?" Anthony threatened, lifting his pistol to aim at the boy's chest.

  
  


"No! Please, no I..." he glanced at the water again, "I cannot swim very well."

  
  


"You... _what_?" Anthony asked incredulously. His arm fell limply to the side and let out an exasperated sigh. "Who in their right bloody mind sails around and can't swim?!"

  
  


"Um... me, sir?"

  
  


"How are you even alive?"

  
  


The boy swallowed nervously and tightened his grip on the rope to his side. "I mostly stay below deck, sir."

  
  


"Below deck... where your cargo is?"

  
  


"That's right, sir."

  
  


Anthony tilted his head back and grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with delight. "And what, pray tell, is Fiona's precious cargo on this fine day?"

  
  


"I... well, I-I don't q-quite understand it myself, sir," the boy stammered out, his eyes widening. "But it looked like... plates?"

  
  


"Plates?"

  
  


He nodded and swayed a little, letting out a panicked squeak. There was a shout from below telling him to stop talking and just jump. Anthony strode over to the side of the ship and blindly fired off a single shot below. No one screamed, but the silence afterwards was his initial aim anyway.

  
  


"Tell me, lad, what of these plates," he said, leaning against the railing with a soothing smile. "Are they made of metal at all?"

  
  


"Some are, sir," he answered, his brow furrowing as he struggled to remember. "The others looked strange."

  
  


Anthony studied the young man for a moment, resting the pistol on his shoulder. Metal plates could mean anything between bars, and dinnerware. The dinnerware was not worth the fight below deck, but  bars of any precious metal were worth twice the trouble.

  
  


Anthony chewed his lip and cast a glance across the gap to his ship. His first mate was staring at him steadily from her place on the quarter deck, her red hair flowing freely in the wind. He gave her a single nod and turned back to the boy in front of him.

  
  


"What's your name, lad?"

  
  


He smiled and ducked his head shyly. "My name's Clint, sir. Clint Barton."

  
  


"Well Clint, what do you say to helping a pirate fight his way through your crew, steal some treasure, and sail off to an exotic island to get drunk and sleep with pretty wenches?"

  
  


Clint blinked at him a few times before he flushed and his face split into a grin. "I say _aye_!"

  
  


"That's the spirit!" Anthony bellowed, offering a hand to help him off the edge. He jumped down with a laugh.

  
  


"Hold up there, I need my crew for this," he said, tapping the lad's shoulder before taking a step back. Three solid thuds told him his friends had arrived.

  
  


"About time, what were you ladies doing, washing your hair?"

  
  


"I have never washed my hair, Ferrous."

  
  


"I can tell by the sound it makes when it strikes the deck as you pass out drunk," Anthony replied in good cheer. The man laughed and tried to run a hand through his hair. What might have once been blond, was now an almost dusty gray color. He grinned and left the half braided mess alone, offering to Clint a surprisingly clean hand to shake.

  
  


"Names Thor, what's yours?"

  
  


"C-Clint," he muttered, taking the proffered hand and glancing at the others, "who is Ferrous?"

  
  


Anthony groaned and rolled his eyes. "That would be me. Apparently it's customary to have a 'proper' captain name."

  
  


"Hey!" Came a voice from a ways down the deck.

  
  


"Oops," Anthony hooted, pulling his pistols back out, "let's save the introductions for later, we have a treasure to steal!"

  
  


* * *

 

 

The treasure was, in fact, square bronze plates. What they were for, Anthony did not know, nor did he care. Bronze was money, and that's all that mattered.

  
  


The fight was hardly worth calling a fight, which was good since the 'treasure' was not worth much of one. The Clint lad turned out to be an excellent fighter, nearly on par with his dangerous first mate. He had not failed to spot the flash of appreciation in the red-head's eyes when she saw him throw a dagger with perfect aim about halfway down the passageway.

  
  


He was lucky, though, that he had predicted things correctly. It seemed the two officers he sent overboard were running the ship in place of a captain, since said captain was passed out drunk in his quarters. They hadn’t bothered being quiet when they raided his quarters, and stole quite a few nice things. Without the two to give orders, the rest of the crew surrendered rather quickly, not all that willing to die for a few bronze plates.

  
  


Thor looked rather put out at the lack of a fight and stomped back up to the deck with several crates balanced in his arms, and a scowl on his face. His mood wasn't shared by all, but Anthony didn't entirely disagree with him. Easy wins were hardly as fulfilling as a bloody battle.

  
  


"I always wanted to do this!" Clint babbled, catching up with him as they laid planks across from their ship.

  
  


"Walk a plank?" Anthony asked, only half paying attention.

  
  


"Adventure! Pirating! Er..." He trailed off, blinking at him.

  
  


"What? What is it? Is there something on me?" He looked down at his shirt. Nope, spotless as always. Was it his beard?

  
  


"You still have that wig on, thought you should know."

  
  


"Does it bring out my eyes?"

  
  


"No, sir, it does not."

  
  


Anthony answered with a bark of laughter and set off across the plank backwards. "You're braver than I expected!"

  
  


"You have not seen a thing, yet."

Clint beamed at the man and clambered up on the plank, wobbling only a little on his way across. Well ahead of him, Anthony hopped down and turned on his heel, offering a hand to the boy.

  
  


"Welcome to the life of adventure, Mr. Barton," Anthony said, helping him down to the deck with a dramatic flourish "Welcome to the lovely Maria!"

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


"This is not exotic," Clint said dryly, staring at the small North Sea island drawing closer. Facing out to the open sea, was a small inlet filled with wooden structures. From far away, it looked almost like a beaver dam built of mud and sticks, haphazardly stuck together. But through the looking glass, Clint could see the clutter was actually an intricate system of pathways leading from one raised platform to other. Most of the cliff side was dotted with smaller cottages, all linked with hanging bridges or ladders. The main building was built over the water, and seemed to hold the only signs of life.

  
  


"Wait until you see the village up close, you may change your mind, lad," Thor answered him with a wide grin and happy eyes. The entire ship was alive with anticipation as they drew closer to the port. It wasn't much, by Clint's standards. The Fiona never pulled into any port smaller than the Great London Docks. But the excitement was infectious, and he felt his heart race as they weighed anchor and readied the boats.

  
  


"Clint, you're with me!" the captain called out, waving him over to the starboard side, "you want to be sticking close when we get there."

  
  


Clint huffed, hurrying over to help haul the boat over the railing. "I'm no child, I can look after myself."

  
  


"Not on Soay, boy. This is not your poncy city, this is a pirate village." Anthony threw a sack over his shoulders and hopped into the boat, ignoring the groans of protest from those holding it up. "You're twice as likely to get get stabbed, and lucky if that's all you get here."

  
  


Jarvis chuckled darkly from Clint's left, nodding to the boat. "Don't listen to him, no one will get close to you once they know you sail under Ferrous. Hop in, boy."

  
  


Clint settled in nervously, clutching the side of the boat as the others lowered them. "How does trade work in Soay? Does it lead back to London eventually?"

  
  


Anthony looked at him seriously and frowned. "The trade runs itself, we have no need for taxes or politics here. It's a delicate operation," he said, turning to peer ahead at the port, "you can't be too careful 'bout what you say in Soay."

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


"You're nothing but a addle-pated lump of anthracite!" Anthony bellowed, before adding in an even louder voice, "your mother was more a man than you are!"

  
  


The man in question had been fine until the comment about his mother and in turn, his masculinity. “Big words for a small man!” he yelled back, and promptly smashed his mug of ale into Anthony's face.

  
  


The captain was pleased with any excuse to fight, and immediately answered in kind. Of course, a brawl could hardly stay between two men in a small tavern like that, so several more men joined it. It was about the time Thor lifted an entire table and swung it at everyone, regardless if they were friend or foe, that Clint high-tailed it out of there.

  
  


"Too much action?" came a low, sultry voice.

  
  


"A little too... _delicate_ for me," Clint responded, looking around for the redhead he knew was lurking in the dark.

  
  


"Yes, that's our captain," she said, stepping out from the shadows, and tilting her head. "You will get used to it, in time."

  
  


"That is, if you last long enough with us," she added.

  
  


"Excuse me? Are you doubting my ability?"

  
  


"Oh no, I've seen what you can do," she replied, narrowing her eyes, "I question your loyalty. You turned coat all too easily and were more than willing to turn that skill against your recent comrades."

  
  


"I was bored, and they were stuffy." Clint said sarcastically, "Is that too difficult to understand?"

  
  


Natasha stepped right into his space, her face inches away from his with cold eyes that pinned him beneath a calculating stare. "I don't trust you, Clint Barton. You went from a bumbling child to a savvy fighter in the space of a blink."

  
  


Clint's face slipped into an easy smirk as he met her gaze. "The _captain_ trusts me, that's all the matters. Besides," he added in a lower voice, "maybe _you_ are the one he should be worried about. I've seen you skulking around on deck at night."

  
  


"The fact that you have seen me at all is reason enough for me to worry," she replied with a hint of a frown. She took a step back and opened her mouth to continue when the door burst open, filling the night with noise.

  
  


"Brigands! The lot of you!"

  
  


"Ah, captain, I see you entertained yourself with your usual sport."

  
  


"It was fun until Thor started beating me with a chair," Anthony whined, holding an arm to his chest. His cheeks were flushed from the brawl, one side sporting a healthy sized bruise and his forehead bleeding from a small cut.

  
  


Grinning, he shook the glass out of his hair and called back into the tavern, "THOR! Get your berserker arse out here and stop choking that wench!"

  
  


Clint snickered, rolling his eyes when Natasha glared at him. The captain seemed unaware of the interaction and started groaning.

  
  


"This idiot... who attacks their own like this? I swear it's broken. Bloody chicken wank—"

  
  


"Go to the Physician," Natasha interrupted.

  
  


"No!" Anthony yelped, backing away as if she had cursed him, "not after last time. No, nope. _No_."

  
  


"You brought it upon yourself last time."

  
  


"He attacked me!"

  
  


"You broke all of his jars and his dishes," she reminded him.

  
  


"It was an _accident_ , there was no reason for violence."

  
  


Natasha continued to stare at him blankly. "An accident, sure. Just like how all of my crystals somehow magically broke in the night?"

  
  


"No one ever proved that was me, not even to this day."

  
  


"I saw you, Ferrous," Thor joined in, tossing a chair back into the room and grinning past the blood streaked across his face. "You are hardly silent when you move, captain."

  
  


Anthony was glaring daggers at the tall blond, still cradling his arm with a shaking hand. " _You_ hit me with a chair, do not speak to me."

  
  


Thor began a torrent of apologies that continued all the way down the pathway, back up a ladder, and across a hanging bridge to a smaller hut nestled into the cliff side.

  
  


"I am so truly—"

  
  


"If I forgive you, will you shut up?" Anthony asked, approaching the cottage tentatively.

  
  


"Yes..."

  
  


"I forgive you, now let me have some silence." The captain stopped outside of the door and hovered there, one hand raised to knock. Everyone remained silent as he instructed and waited for him to make his move.

  
  


"The door shan't bite, Captain."

  
  


"Yes, thank you for that keen observation, Natasha."

  
  


"I could knock for you," Thor offered, still looking like a kicked puppy.

  
  


"I can do it myself!" Anthony snapped, pulling his hand back to knock. He froze again a second later.

  
  


"Whoever it is lurking outside my door, you have no talent for stealth whatsoever," came a voice from inside. Before anyone could answer, the door opened and a man stepped out, holding a bowl in one hand and a dagger in the other. As soon as he spotted Anthony, a small frown formed across his face. "Oh, it's _you_. Of course, only you could be this loud without even trying."

  
  


The captain took a step back and muttered, "you know what, i'm perfectly fine. Let's go."

  
  


"Oh stop it," Natasha sighed, pushing him through the door past the physician, "it's his arm. Fix it so we can leave you to your—"

  
  


A fit of squeaky animal noises filled the air and Clint ran right into Thor's back as he froze on the threshold.

  
  


"What the bloody hell is that?" Clint grumbled, rubbing his assaulted nose.

  
  


"You... still... have it?" Thor whispered, standing stock-still.

  
  


The physician chuckled and crossed the room, setting the bowl down on a wide work table. "Of course Bandit is still here, he's my assistant."

  
  


The noises seemed to increase, sending the giant blond shuffling backwards into Clint.

  
  


"Ow! You great bulk, you're stepping on me!"

  
  


Thor sidled to the side of the cottage, never once taking his eyes off the offending object. Scowling at the man, Clint turned to see what it was that scared him so badly.

  
  


There, in the middle of the floor, was a weasel. It was doing some sort of jerky, jumping dance and yipping out the door at where the blond had previously stood.

  
  


Clint stared at it for a long moment before the creature seemed to notice him, and hissed.

  
  


"Oh, that's..."

  
  


"Terrifying," Thor breathed from somewhere behind a stack of wood.

  
  


A roar of laughter filled the hut, sending the weasel into another angry dance before it scuttled over to the doctor and crawled up onto his shoulder.

  
  


"Who's this then?" the man asked, nodding his head towards Clint, "a new recruit?"

  
  


"Clint, meet Bruce. Bruce, Clint. Now can you fix my arm?"

  
  


Bruce gave Clint a blank look, asking, "you look as though you still care about the captain. Has he broken anything of yours yet?"

"He stole my wig, sir."

  
  


"I liberated your beautiful head from that hideous thing. Don't say a word otherwise," Anthony interrupted, before turning back to the physician with a scowl, "don't scare off my new mate and for god's sakes it was two jars!"

  
  


Bruce narrowed his eyes at him, and the flames of his oil lamps grew dim. His voice came out cold and hollow, sending a shiver of fear down Clint's back. "It was _sixteen_ jars and _twelve_ of my sealable plates. You spoiled dozens of experiments exposing those to the air."

  
  


"How was _I_ to know? Besides, I tripped over your land eel there. If there's anyone you should blame, it’s him!"

  
  


The weasel hissed, took a step closer on Bruce's shoulder, and  somewhere outside of the cottage there came a small squeak. That was all it took to send the men into another roaring fit of laughter.

  
  


With the atmosphere considerably lighter, Bruce placed the weasel on the table and set about finding bandages and ointment.

  
  


Twenty minutes and a number of colorful curses later, Anthony was back outside with Thor puffing on a pipe, and complaining about witch doctors and their smelly cures. Natasha was no where to be seen, and Bruce was having a grand time of showing Clint his collections.

  
  


"What's all this for, then?"

  
  


Bruce carefully set down the jar of preserved eyes, dusting off the lid. He smiled at Clint with a hint of sadness.

  
  


"I have been experimenting on ways to suspend or extend one's life."

  
  


"I know, I know," he muttered, shaking his head, " 'it's a myth!' everyone says. But there are more things in this world that we do not understand, than those that we do. I have seen things, young man, that would baffle your mind. Things that can survive where most men cannot. So, perhaps it is myth for now, but I will make it truth someday."

  
  


Clint eyed the shelfs thoughtfully as he listened, wondering what could drive a man to study such an impossible thing. His eyes fell on a small portrait by the doctor's desk, and the reason struck him. She was beautiful, but the image was worn and old already, as if a touch had worried it down day by day. There was a long since dead flower resting below the frame, covered in dust whereas the portrait was clean.

  
  


Grief, of course. Loss and grief would make one strive to change fate like that.

  
  


"What good is it, though, if you're too late?" he asked quietly,  his eyes never leaving the woman's face. "What is the _point_ of it all?"

  
  


"The point?" Bruce chuckled and followed his gaze to the picture. "The point is to be on time for someone else, no matter how late I am for myself...or for her."

  
  


"It's always too late..." Clint muttered and turned away to join the others outside.

* * *

 

  
  


They left the physician to his experiments, wrapping up against the cold wind and heading back into the main part of the village. Set into the stone walls that lined the harbor, was a marketplace that stretched around the small bay. One could access it from nearly any platform or pathway across the town, and the stalls themselves were large and open to the elements. It was loud, and filled to the brim with a colorful assortment of people. A large number of them didn't look all that different from Anthony, although no one quite met his small stature.

  
  


"What are all those colored bits of clothing?" Clint asked him curiously, pointing at the bright bits of cloth each man wore somewhere on his body. Some had scarfs, others had bright sashes around their waists.

  
  


Anthony spared a glance at the men he was pointing to and snorted. "It's how you know who's who around here. Everyone knows what color you sail under, it's as good as a name."

  
  


"What color are you, then? I don't see a scarf."

  
  


Anthony spun on his heel and did an exaggerated bow before straightening up with a grin. "My color, lad, is red as sin. I have no need for a scarf, for I am Ferrous the most feared. I am recognized on sight."

  
  


"Everyone knows it's him because he's short," Thor commented, giving Clint a wink as he bit into an apple.

  
  


"I _will_ keelhaul you," Anthony warned, sending the much taller man a deadly glare.

  
  


"So you got the color every sailor fears the most," Clint interrupted, "how did you manage that?"

  
  


Anthony gave him a pointed look. "You earn it, there's no trick about it. I may be short," he shot Thor a dirty look and continued, "but I run a tight crew and am a fearsome sight to behold in a fight."

  
  


Clint hummed in agreement, looking up at the sky. The sun was just starting to set, its last rays of warmth barely reaching the cove at all. " _Red at night, sailor's delight_..."

  
  


" _Red sky at morning, sailor's warning_ ," Anthony finished with a nasty smirk. "Luckily for us, the sun sets red tonight. Let us gather some things and meet back at the tavern for some 'sailors delight'. What say you all?"

  
  


"Aye, I wish to buy myself a new pair of trousers," Thor said eagerly, tossing the apple core into the sea.

  
  


"I have some objects I will need to procure," Natasha said, her eyes scanning the stalls. " _No_ , Anthony, I will not tell you what."

  
  


The captain sulked a little before turning to face Clint expectantly. "What do you wish for? I can point you in the right direction."

  
  


"I... er, actually, I would like to write my mum. She's not going to understand why I didn't come back on the Fiona. Is there somewhere I can... I suppose there isn't..."

  
  


"No worries, lad, we have people who travel to London," Anthony assured, patting his shoulder and pointing down the far side of the market, "follow the orange stalls there till the end. You'll find Phillip and all the paper and ink you could ever want, for a price. He'll set you up with someone to deliver your message too."

  
  


Clint beamed at him and set off down the market way with a small purse of coins from Anthony himself. He smiled at the boy's disappearing back, jumping a little when a hand fell on his shoulder.

  
  


"Do _not_ trust him," wanted Natasha, "he's not who he says he is."

  
  


Anthony studied her for a long moment, a frown forming on his face. He wasn't blind to the strangeness that surrounded the boy. His quick change from fear to confidence when they first met. A look he got in his eye sometimes when he watched the crew from the sidelines. He had spotted him, more than once, hanging out of the crows nest and studying everyone below him. Something was off about Clint, but he couldn't quite put a name to it.

  
  


"I know, for now we watch him," he said at last, sparing her a glance. "Keep your enemies close."

  
  


She nodded grimly and stepped away from him, instantly fading into the crowd. Anthony turned to address Thor, and found he was already alone, bringing an unbidden thought to his mind.

  
  


Thoughts of how little any of them knew about one another, something that had never bothered him before. They worked together, lived together, and fought together. But who they were when they stepped off the ship, Anthony still didn't know. When they all turned away from each other, what face did they show the world? Who were they before they grew hard and selfish?

  
  


Perhaps he did not want I know. His own past was not something he would ever share with them. A pirate was not typically born, but made. No one chose this life, not without plenty reason. His crew was tight, they looked out for one another, but the secrets would keep them apart like ships lost at sea. The tide may carry them close, but with no effort from the captain, the ships will never meet.

  
  


Anthony cast one more look around him and set off to find something shiny to buy.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


As if pulled by another's will, Anthony's eyes were drawn to a man standing several stalls away. He was standing so perfectly still, he had somehow become apart from the crowd that surrounded him, as though he existence was not quite as solid as it should be. His eyes were focused on the fisherman's stall in front of him, a small frown fixed upon his lips. Anthony fidgeted nervously, unable to place the sudden unease he felt as he watched those vibrant eyes stare into the beady, black orbs of the dead fish before him. The man moved, and it was so sudden an action Anthony almost missed it. A long, thin finger, that was far too pale to be healthy, stroked the fish's body slowly. When it reached the tail, the man drew his hand back and let out a deep sigh that resonated over the crowd's chatter. Anthony froze, no longer fidgeting with his new belt buckle. The man was now staring at him, with what Anthony could only assume was a reflection of his own bewildered expression. Then, Anthony blinked, a woman passed between them, and the man was gone. He continued to stare at the empty gap where he had once stood, until his body told him enough was enough. With a shake of his head, he set off to find the tavern he was meeting the rest of his crew at.

  
  


He ate, drank, and made merry without a second's thought of the man in the market place. By the morning, he was completely forgotten, and perhaps he never existed at all.

  
  


* * *

 

 

The sun was burning him alive, and all he could do was turn over to protect his eyes from it. Turning over had the unfortunate effect of riling up his alcohol filled stomach. So, with a groan, Anthony leaned over whatever he was laying on, and vomited. He was answered by a similar retching sound from somewhere to his left. Or was it right?

  
  


"Red 'n morning," he groaned, forcing himself to sit up and open his eyes. With a hiss, he shaded his stinging eyes with a hand. The bandages startled him for a moment, before a sharp pain spiked through his arm to remind him what happened.

  
  


"No, wrong," he muttered, squinting at the body next to his, "I do _not_ know what happened."

  
  


His partner in crime sat up and squinted his bright, blue eyes. Anthony jerked in surprise a second time when he saw the blond's hair was actually, well, _blond_. Sometime during the night, Thor had gotten clean. If that wasn't a miracle in itself, the man looked well groomed for someone who was clearly suffering the side effects of too much ale. Far too much ale.

  
  


"We drank, we... sang," Thor spoke quietly, swaying back and forth a little, "we danced upon a table."

  
  


"Where's Clint?" Anthony asked, unable to focus on the voice that was answering him. "Where's everyone? Did we loose them?"

  
  


"Nay..."

  
  


Anthony rolled over into a kneeling position and leaned over Thor. He looked in tip top condition for someone who had spent the night drinking and, apparently, dancing. Albeit, a little vomit stained.

  
  


"I _hate_ you," Anthony grumbled,  hitting the blond's arm with the force of a limp noodle. "How does one pull off godly perfection after a bender like that?"

  
  


Thor simply grinned like he knew something Anthony didn't, and remained laying where he was. So he smacked his arm again and growled, "the godly one gets to go find the others while the angry captain tries to stop seeing things."

  
  


"They are, they... one is in a boat."

  
  


"What?"

  
  


"The little one," Thor said, raising a hand to shade his eyes as he squinted out at the ocean, "he's in a boat."

  
  


"Thor, my friend, I think you are hallucinating." Anthony joined him, trying to see what he was looking at. The harbor was empty save for a few small boats moored outside the tavern.

  
  


"He just disappeared!"

  
  


"You are absolutely barmy, that's what you are. I'm sitting here looking at nothing, and you're going on about it like there’s—"

  
  


"Captain!"

  
  


Turning slowly, Anthony  faced a quickly approaching red-head, mustering up just enough energy to snarl in irritation,"Yes, Nat?"

  
  


"Where is the boy? I've been to Phillip and he hasn't seen him since late noon."

  
  


"'S’noon now isn't it?"

  
  


" _Yesterday_. Noon, yesterday. Basically, when we last saw him in the market."

  
  


Anthony blinked and looked around where they had landed themselves for the first time. Somehow, during the night, Thor acquired a lady's dress and put him in it. Because there was no way he would dress himself in this abominable color.

  
  


"So we saw him the last time we saw him," he replied, ignoring the twitch of Natasha's eyebrow as he pulled off the green dress. She had seen worse. "Thor, cast off thy colored nighty and go find the runt."

  
  


Thor grunted and stood, stripping off his dress in one swift movement. Anthony, again, ignored Natasha's more appreciative eyebrow twitch.

  
  


"You, help me find my bleeding clothes before I freeze to death. Why would I forsake that shirt? What could possibly possess me to do that?"

  
  


"Lots and lots of ale," she replied dryly and pointed at a coil of rope, "In there."

  
  


"You are the red-headed goddess of drunken men's shirts," he praised her, pulling out his shirt. It was only slightly wrinkled, and the red was almost as crisp as the first day he got it.

  
  


"Please, do not add to my title as first mate, my ego could not handle it," Natasha joked and spared him a rare smile.

  
  


Anthony pulled on the rest of his clothes, stopping to catch himself if he listed too far to the side. The ale was wearing off, which meant the headache and the noonday sun aversion were about to set in.

  
  


"Nat..."

  
  


The redhead jerked her head up at his tone, the small smile slipping away already. "What is it, Captain?"

  
  


"Is there a boat out there that I can't see?"

  
  


She blinked at him for a moment before turning her attention to the small harbor. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the sea, looking all the way out to their ship and back again.

  
  


"I see nothing, I think everyone is still knocked out or pissing drunk."

  
  


"No little boat, with say... Clint in it?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

  
  


"No... _Why_?" She turned her narrowed eyes to him now.

  
  


"Thor said he saw him,  but that was when we were both still mostly horizontal, if that tells you anything."

  
  


Natasha snapped her attention back to the water. "He said he saw Clint? Why the devil..."

  
  


"He sort of also said he disappeared."

  
  


"Interesting," she replied, still scanning the water for anything she missed, "did he say how? Did the boat sink, or go behind the cliff walls?"

  
  


Anthony ran his fingers through his hair, tucking his shirt in. "He just sort of yelled about it and then you showed up."

  
  


"We should probably ask him, then."

  
  


"Think he's still running around bare?"

  
  


"I do not doubt it," Natasha agreed, turning from the ocean with a smirk and setting off between buildings to find their naked friend.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


Clint was found before Thor was, curled up in a boat pulled up in dry dock for repairs. One hand clutched a bottle, the other a wide brimmed hat stuffed with a hideous assortment of feathers. They debated whether to wake him up before or after the owner of said hat came to find it, and decided they had enough to deal with. With soft kick to his  side, Anthony managed to wake him up from his drunken stupor.

  
  


"I don't remember seeing you in the tavern last night, lad. Where'd you find your poison?"

  
  


Clint whined and stared up at them with glazed eyes, glancing between them as if trying to determine who was who. He settled, at last, on the captain and mumbled his answer.

  
  


"I got hauled away by a bunch of...  green."

  
  


Anthony scratched his beard and thought back to the events of last night. It wasn't easy, considering most of the night was a blur of colors and sounds ending in a rude awaking of sun and regurgitation. He did recall both his and Thor's green dresses and put two and two together.

  
  


"Must have been the O'Malley's, then. I think they're the only greens in this port."

  
  


"The who?"

  
  


Anthony sighed, pinching the bridge of nose. The headache ready to pounce any second now. "We probably met Grace O'Mally and her crew. We're lucky to be alive, let alone walk away with our private parts."

  
  


"She... not like us?" Clint asked groggily, managing to prop himself up further.

  
  


"She doesn't like anyone, to be honest," Natasha replied for him, casting an eye around the vicinity, "have you seen Thor?"

  
  


"'Fraid not. Why, is he missing?"

  
  


" _You_ were. Thor has gone off to look for you."

  
  


Clint hummed and looked around again, running a hand through his hair. He spent several seconds staring before his eyebrows flew up. "Found him."

  
  


"Wha... Oh, he is still naked," Natasha admitted, ignoring Anthony's chortle. "What is he doing on the roof?"

  
  


"Probably thought 'birds eye view'. He only tries to get clever when he's been drinking. Also, how have his bits not frozen and fallen off," Anthony grumbled, poking around to find  any sign of a dress. "Oi, Clint, were you in anything green, by chance?"

  
  


"No? Should I be?"

  
  


Anthony froze over another coil of rope and frowned. Because, yes, he should have been dressed in green. A lady's dress or not, if he was with them, he would have been marked with green in some way. That's how the game was played, those drunk under the table were marked as lost to the winners. The dresses were just a personal insult.

  
  


"Nope," he said turning around with a grin, "I was just hoping you shared some of our suffering. Thor and I awoke to the new day dressed as lovely ladies."

  
  


Clint made the appropriate disgusted face, and hobbled out of the boat. From the roof halfway across the village, Thor bellowed to let them know he found Clint before leaping off the roof and disappearing behind the buildings.

  
  


"Please tell me from that from there to here he finds some clothes," Anthony muttered, leaning close to whisper to Natasha, "not that I don't mind the view, but I don't want to capture too much attention. Not when Clint is pulling a fast one on us."

  
  


"You noticed?"

  
  


"I'm not that foolish."

  
  


"That is _highly_ debatable."

  
  


"I'm adding more names to your title," Anthony said in a sweet voice, "feel free to guess which ones."

  
  


"This is serious, Ferrous."

  
  


"And not a good time to discuss it," he reminded with a nudge to her side. Clint eyed them with with an amused smirk sauntering over with a few moments of wobbling.

  
  


"What happened, anyway?" Clint asked, leaning heavily against a barrel. "I remember coming back to the tavern after I sent my letter, then it's all a mess."

  
  


Natasha flashed a quick, irritated smile and went off, presumedly, to find Thor. Anthony scowled at her back before waving an arm for Clint to follow him. "I don't remember enough to fill in any gaps, to be honest. Let's just say we had a good time and didn't end up dead. Everything is roses."

  
  


"I can accept that," Clint said with a grin.

  
  


"Good, cuz' we're headed back to ship as soon as we can pick up supplies and apprehend the naked one."

  
  


Anthony flashed a wide grin in return and turned away, letting it fall from his face as quickly as it had come. He didn't know what the lad's game was, and it didn't matter. He was playing with them, that much Anthony was sure of. Something better men had tried and failed at many times over, something Anthony punished them heavily for.

  
  


There was nothing he hated more than a traitor. Betrayal had a long, bitter history with him, and he no longer had the patience for it.

  
  


No one played with captain Ferrous. No one who wanted to live, anyway.

  
  


* * *

 

 

The boat was shored up, but ready to go. One end piled up with the few remaining barrels and crates destined for the Maria, with Thor seated, on the other side to even out the load with his bulk. He was back in his usual clothes and sporting a new pair of trousers with far too much pride. Natasha was... somewhere. It was amazing how she could disappear in such a small space. A whole woman, gone before your very eyes.

  
  


Anthony's eyes narrowed as he counted the last of their goods, nodding in satisfaction before ticking off the final objects on their list.

  
  


He turned to Thor to ask, "Everything in? Who delivered our water out this time?"

  
  


"I'm not sure, perhaps Danny. Why?"

  
  


Anthony snickered and dropped the list in the blond's lap before unknotting the ropes to cast off. "I hope Jarvis gave him hell."

  
  


"Is that why you keep him?" Thor inquired, pulling the oars suddenly and nearly sending the captain overboard with a loud squawk.

  
  


Anthony gave him his usual glare and settled in, asking himself in a low voice, "why do I keep _you_?"

  
  


He was reminded, soon enough, why he kept the blond around. It was a long trip, from the port out to the Maria since the harbor was too shallow for a vessel of her size. Luckily enough, the weather in Soay was nice for once. Thor's even strokes brought them out between the cliffs and into the deeper ocean at a steady pace. Anthony turned, expecting a face full of warm sun as they moved out of the shadowy harbor, but Instead, he was hit with a bitter chill.

  
  


"That is.. odd," he commented, shivering in his light, cotton shirt.

  
  


"What is, captain?"

  
  


"Don't you feel that? It's bloody freezing!" He ran his hands up and down his arms, frowning and adding to Clint, "I swear it's usually warmer out here.”

  
  


"I don't feel cold," Clint said, blinking at him before looking at Thor.

  
  


Thor gave a quick shrug and said,"I feel hot."

  
  


"Well you're rowing while I'm sitting here freezing my arse off!" Anthony paused in his rant to glare at the sun. He couldn't feel it, or even warm his hands with his breath. Nothing was working, and he seemed to be growing colder.

  
  


"Something is..." He began, and choked. Something was very wrong and lungs refused to accept it. All he could manage were short, little gasps of air before something blocked its path completely. Anthony clawed at his throat, his eyes growing wide in fear as his brain began to scream at him to fix the problem.

  
  


_Just breathe already!_

  
  


With a choked sob, he stood up and stumbled, his legs growing stiff and unresponsive. Thor had thrown down the oars and was approaching fast as Clint moved closer, a strange expression across his face. Anthony found himself staring at the boy even as his eyesight started to waver, trying to place the look. Thor reached for him and his body jerked back against his will. As he toppled backwards, something clicked into place.

  
  


_Satisfaction_. Clint had the look of a man content with a job well done.

  
  


Anthony wanted to ask him something, but his mind could not form the question. Not that he could speak anymore, anyway. Thor screamed something just before he hit the water. His ears filling with the rush of the sea, he sank beneath the waves.

  
  


* * *

 

 

 

  
  


As the water dragged him down, he reached for the  halo of bubbles that rose up above him. His fingers clawed through and sent them scattering into nothing. Nothing to hold on to, there was only down, only the dark below him. So he sank, with an unexplainable weight throughout his body, into the dark. The last trickle of breath climbed to the surface he so desperately wished to reach.

  
  


 

 

* * *

 

  
  


The first breath hurt so badly he wanted to scream. But one needed air to scream, so he simply  tried again, regardless of the grating pain it caused as he dragged the air into his lungs. Then it was another and another until he was sure he was breathing without manual application. Now that he could scream, he didn't want to. Better to save what was left of his voice after so much abuse. He may need to scream yet.

  
  


He hadn't braved opening his eyes, because according to his senses, he was either dead or floating. Or both. Of course, as soon as those thoughts filled his mind, his heart began to race. With his eyes squeezed shut, he reached out a weightless hand to feel for his surroundings.

  
  


"Have you awaken?"

  
  


Anthony jerked his eyes open and tried to move away from where he thought the voice was coming from. Unfortunately he _was_ floating  and was tethered to a rock by way of a rope around his leg.

  
  


"Cease your struggling, you could dislodge the amulet."

  
  


Anthony twisted and turned and flailed around, trying to get free of the rope and away from that voice. It was rough, like a whisper, but resonated around him. His body was all too ready to do exactly as the voice commanded, which made him struggle all the more.

  
  


"I said, _cease_..."

  
  


There, directly in front of him, were a set of hauntingly familiar eyes. They were far too close for comfort, but the voice commanded and so he must follow. Anthony swallowed a torrent of angry curses that threatened to rise at the sheer audacity of those eyes. Pinning him like one of Bruce's bugs on a needle. No one should be allowed to control his body like that, not with sound, not with a _voice_.

  
  


"Who... _what_ are you?" He asked carefully, adjusting his question when his eyes traveled downwards. The body he had expected to see, was certainly not that of a fish, or half fish anyway. The fish part seemed to start just below where the human part should have had a navel. Which is lacked, which somehow drove the 'not human' aspect home for him.

  
  


The man, fish, thing blinked at him owlishly and was gone from his sight as suddenly as it entered. A second later, he was back again, slightly further away this time.

  
  


"I am no one. I am nothing," it answered.

  
  


"Hello No One, I am Anthony and you've got me tied to a rock in..." He looked around his surroundings and tried not to think about where he was. "In a cave."

  
  


"You would drift away if I set you free."

  
  


"And that's a problem, why?"

  
  


The man, fish, thing- he really needed a better name for it- blinked at him again slowly.

  
  


"There are things that would not spare a seconds thought to snap you up in their jaws."

  
  


"So, it's fish food or playing buoy with No One?" He jerked one more time at the rope and paused when something shiny caught his eye.

  
  


Something was around his neck that he had not placed there himself. A large metal disk, carved with what looked like chicken scratch, drifted with his movements.

  
  


"This must be the amulet you were speaking of," Anthony commented, trying to tilt his head close enough to read the writing. "Why do I have this?"

  
  


No One was in front of him again instantly, his long fingers wrapping themselves around the metal. Anthony noted the translucent webbing between each finger with a faint frown. Fish, he needed to remember that.

  
  


"You were dying... I meant to assist you in some small way," he spoke slowly, looking doubtful, "I could not look away from a face I recognized. There is no honor in that."

  
  


Anthony let out a short breath that, disturbingly enough, did not create bubbles. His nerves were on fire, and he wasn't getting used to the situation very quickly. "I don't know where you saw my face, since i'm not on any coin, but you have my thanks for saving me. I still do not understand how I was dying."

  
  


No One looked up and pressed the circle of gold to Anthony's chest. As the creature pulled back, he felt the cold brush of one of those long fingers against his chest. Just enough to send chills throughout his body. The thing was gone again, stopping some ways away to drift back and forth as it eyed him.

  
  


After another sharp twist, No one rasped, “You were dying.”

  
  


“I believe we have established that,” Anthony replied dryly. Narrowing his eyes, he added, “That _was_ your doing, was it not?”

  
  


“No, not I,” it answered with a flick of its tail. It seemed to be growing irritated with the conversation, or the situation, or just him. “As I said, I found you adrift in my territory. Why would I save a creature I aimed to kill?”

  
  


“I don't know, maybe fish-people like to play with their food.”

  
  


It made a face of disgust and disappeared again, popping up suddenly to his left. “I do _not_ eat mortals,” it hissed in Anthony's ear.

  
  


The eyes narrowed, as it slowly opened its mouth to bare thin, sharp teeth at him. Anthony tried to pull away as fast as his water-logged body would allow. He grew painfully aware of how slow his movements were, especially in comparison to the creature. He swayed, pulling against the rope that kept him adrift above the ocean floor. On a second glance down, he spotted more shiny objects, this time below his feet. Anthony's eyes widened when he realized what they were, and the pirate in him instantly branded them as his. It was gold, mountains of it. Coins, cups, plates, jewels, and caskets which he could only presume held more riches.

  
  


“Is this all... yours?” he forced out with difficulty. He almost said 'mine'.

  
  


No One flitted away with shrug, apparently no longer interested in his mortal captive. Anthony waited stiffly for his sudden and enviable return somewhere around him. When it did not come, he relaxed slightly.

  
  


What, in in the name of all the land and seas, was going on? He had heard tales, of course, of creatures with a body of a fish. Every sailor told them, every child believed them. No self-respecting pirate paid any attention to such stories, not when reality held more interesting things. That and they were sort of busy striking terror in the hearts of those who fell prey to tales of evil pirates. The likes of which had heard some rather good ones about the Fearsome Ferrous and his 'skeleton crew'.

  
  


But where was this 'fearsome' pirate now? Locked away on the bottom of the sea, trapped in a tale of his own.

  
  


_The bottom of the sea._

  
  


He was tethered to a rock, miles and miles below the waves he so proudly sailed upon. Suddenly, it was hard to breath again. Anthony choked out something akin to a sob and wrapped his arms around his body. They provided no real warmth or comfort, but offered the small illusion of safety. His hair swayed above him, his clothes pulled and dragged with some unseen current, and he prayed that this was all just a dream.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Don't Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Well, it looks like this will be more than two parts. My apologies]

  
  
  
Anthony was sleeping when something cold brushed against his face, sending an intense shiver through his body. It had taken him almost a full day to allow even the  _ thought _ of sleeping to pass his mind. Once the sway and soft rush of the water around him managed to lull him into a false sense of security, he finally closed his eyes and gave in to the exhaustion.   
  
That had been only an hour ago. Then again, time was hard to gauge at the bottom of the ocean, it could have been days ago for all he knew. But the important thing was the cold slick feeling against his face, and what it was and did Anthony actually want to open his eyes to find out?   
  
"Please tell me that is you, fish man or No One, because if it is not, I shan't open my eyes."   
  
"You are sickly."   
  
Anthony sighed, and opened one eye to see one of the merman's hands retreat from his face. "Yes, well, you would be too if you were tied to a rock at the bottom of the... ocean... except, you  _ wouldn't _ because you are fishy and can breath normally down here without panicking."   
  
"Something has hurt you," was his answer, and No One swirled around Anthony as though looking for the harmful object on his body.   
  
Anthony frowned and tried to translate what he meant in his mind. 

 

_ Something? Well, he was tied to a rock at the...  _

 

"Wait, something to make me ill... perhaps, poison?"  
  
No One was in front of him again, unnaturally fast, and Anthony had to wonder if he would ever get used to the way he moved. Not that he was making any long term plans to reside down here, oh no.  
  
"Poooiiiisssssooooonnnn," No One hissed and touched his face again, tracing those long fingers down his cheek with a thoughtful expression. There was that sharp-toothed grin again, and he took off through the water with an explosion of bubbles.  
  
Grumbling, Tony swayed back and forth thanks to the sudden rush of water from his tail. He was starting to feel a little sea-sick with all this constant movement, or perhaps it was the supposed poison. Which was nonsense, he felt fine. For the most part.  
  
A flash of a smirking face and the drowning-in-air sensation crossed his memory. Who _was_ that, anyway?  
  
Poison. That meant someone in Soay had it out for him, more than usual. You don't poison someone in good humor—well, Natasha did, but that's an entirely different story—you aimed to kill a man that way. To make matters worse, you murder him without them ever allowing them to know the face of their killer. That wasn't what pirates did, hell, even your average sailor would rather slit your belly than poison you. Who in Davy Blue Jones wanted to do that to him so craftily and without acknowledgement? Anthony was on good terms will all the crews shipping in and out of Soay. 'Good' in a lose sense, but good all the same. So the Irish didn't like him much, but they had made business arrangements in the past that ended with little to no bloodshed. There was that one Spaniard who traveled all the way up here every year just to get drunk and fight him. It was the closest thing he had to a birthday celebration,really.

  
Who was sneaky like that, cowardly enough to poison him? Anthony had started ticking off his favorite list of cowards when the merman returned from behind him and made him jump, again.   
  
"Can you at least attempt to appear like a normal person, or not-person, but stop popping up like that!"   
  
No One tilted his head, and if he understood the request, he made no sign of it. Instead, he held out a bottle. It was not all that old, by bottom-of-the-sea standards. In fact, it looked rather similar to the bottles he had seen in Bruce's hut many a time. Bottles he may or may not have broken or stolen.   
  
"What is this?" He asked No One, reaching out for it tentatively.   
  
"Poooooiiiisoooon."   
  
"Oh, you have my thanks. I needed more of that."   
  
The merman gestured to the bottle a little more frantically, so Anthony took a closer look. Oh, yes, there it was. The classic skull and cross bones that warned any drinker that they would surely die if they ingested the contents of said bottle. He turned it over once, twice, and failed to find any relevance.   
  
"Yep, this is poison alright," he stated dryly.   
  
No One seemed to perk up at this, his expression growing almost cheerful. It was a bit alarming, considering that his smile was full of sharp teeth, even if his eyes were filled with humor— or was that hunger?–it was hard to tell.   
  
"If I mend you, will you give me something in return?"   
  
That was probably the longest sentence he had heard from the man-fish thus far, and it was a request. Anthony blinked away the initial surprise and tried to weigh his options. Bargaining with unknown circumstances was never a safe game to play. Then again, he was out of options, tied to a rock, and he never did like to play it safe, anyway.   
  
"I suppose so, name your price."   
  
No One was too close again, and Anthony finally got an answer to a previous question that had bothered him since he first laid eyes on him. Yes, the creatures eyes were inky black, and no did that not make him feel any better to know that.   
  
"You will let me board your ship."   
  
"Ah..." Anthony frowned. "Why? I mean, what need have you of a floating craft, when you sail upon the ocean's current?"   
  
No One looked a little proud, as if Anthony had just sang high praise of him. His face was really much too close for comfort, and swaying back on his tether did not seem to remedy the situation as the merman simply pressed closer.   
  
"I have a need for such a thing," he answered at last, voice heavy with regret, "It is not safe for me to leave this area, yet I must travel to see my family before the year is up."   
  
"Family," was all Anthony could say. He was still trying to wrap his mind around one mermaid, never mind an entire family of them, or  _ more _ . "Wait, what do you mean unsafe?"   
  
Narrowing his eyes, No One flashed his teeth, and hissed, "do not speak as if you do not know. Not you, human, you who hunt us!"   
  
"I was not even aware of your existence before today, but only in rumor and stories."   
  
"Stories begin from somewhere, and they began with the blood of my kind."   
  
Anthony frowned and glanced away with the guilt of his entire species. He had never enjoyed hunting, there was simply no sport in it. Killing people, that was fine and fair because people were never innocent. At least, not the sort  _ he _ was killing, and they were waving swords at him first. But animals, creatures of land or sea, he never enjoyed it. Not since the first day his father took him hunting and shot a young buck in the neck within moments of entering the woods. Anthony looked on in horror as the creature stumbled to the ground, its legs still struggling desperately to bring it away from the hunters. Watery, black eyes found his, and he watched as something left its body cold and dead on the forrest floor.   
  
He had not looked away then, and he would not look away now.   
  
"I do  _ not _ hunt," he growled, raising his eyes to meet those that were angry and dark before him. "I do not wish to see a soul leave the body of an innocent ,ever again."   
  
No One's anger seemed to ebb away slowly with each swell of the ocean around them. It seemed Anthony wasn't the only one calmed by the motion, and the merman smiled at him again.   
  
"I shall heal you, man-but-not-a-man."   
  
"Man but not  _ what _ ?!" Anthony sputtered, sending himself bobbing to the side with his outburst.   
  
No One tilted his head again with a curious pout and replied, "you are not like the others. Not a man."   
  
"Well," Anthony cleared his throat, and tried not to think too hard about breathing under water again, "there are no men like me, I always say."   
  
"No, there are not," No One agreed, and kissed him.   
  


* * *

  
  
Perhaps a 'kiss' was far too romantic a way of describing the action. It was more like this:   
  
No One cupped his face between his webbed hands and pressed his lips against his. That is about where the kiss part ended because after that he was biting down harshly on both of their lips, and slipping his tongue into Anthony's mouth. He choked in surprise and flailed his arms helplessly as his mouth filled with their blood. 

 

_ Why, why,  _ why _ was the creature doing this? Oh god his tongue was still... _   
  
He flailed some more, but No One did not let go of his head nor his lips. He seemed to be waiting for something, and Anthony found that breathing under water did not mean he could breath with a mouth full of blood. So, he forced himself to swallow before he choked. In his initial panic, he failed to notice the strange taste, and now that he had a chance to calm down, he realized how different it was. The blood was not the bitter copper he had expected, but rather sweet, like honey. He was hit, suddenly, with a mad desire for more of it, and he licked hungrily at the tongue invading his mouth.   
  
But No One seemed content and pulled away again, licking away the blood flowing from the cut on his own lips with a satisfied smirk.   
  
"There."   
  
"' _ T-there _ '?! You just b-bloody... I—"   
  
"You are well, now."   
  
"Do I even  _ want _ to know what that implies?"   
  
No One's smirk widened, and no, Anthony did not.   
  
He swayed in silence for a while, studying the merman in front of him curiously while sucking on his wounded lip. A thousand questions flowed through his mind, but considering how few words No One seemed to be willing to exchange, Anthony doubted he would get any decent answers.   
  
"So," he began, "I may need to actually be on my ship, to let you on my ship."   
  
No One nodded and disappeared below him, hopefully setting him free of his rock.   
  
"It might also be helpful if you had a name to call you, not that I don't appreciate the mystery of 'No One', but I doubt my crew will find it an easy name to accept."   
  
He drifted up suddenly and twisted around to look at the rope. He was free of the rock, but No One was holding on to the rope now, looking up at him with a frown. Wonderful, now he was some sort of floating pet poodle to a man-fish.   
  
"Loki," the merman replied, and Anthony nearly missed it with the rush of the tide.   
  
" _ Loki _ ," he tried, and found he enjoyed the way it rolled off his tongue. "Tis a nice name, very noble. I am Anthony, by the way. Since you never asked."   
  
Loki gave him a look that clearly showed how little interest he had in the name of his new pet, but repeated it all the same.   
  
"Aaannthonyyyyyy."   
  
"Good enough, a little drawn out but I like it all the same." Anthony bobbed a little higher and actually started to smile. He could feel it already, the mild warmth of the surface above him. "I hope they haven't left without me. That would put a stop to our plans rather quickly."   
  
"They have not."   
  
Anthony tried to look at him again to ask just how he knew that, but Loki was swimming up past him now, pulling him along like a buoy. A thought struck him, and he was just opening his mouth to ask how Loki was going to get on the ship with no legs, when they suddenly reached the surface.   
  
He didn't gasp for air, as he would have after a swim, but he broke the surface eagerly all the same. It was blissfully warm, bright, and air! Oh, how he missed air. His lungs took in one big breath before he choked and promptly retched. Water poured out from his nose and mouth and he coughed painfully before managing to catch his breath once more. It was painful, and his lungs were screaming at him to stop doing what he had been doing most of his life.   
  
_ Traitors _ , he thought bitterly and forced them to do their bloody jobs.   
  
"Ah, that was unpleasant," he croaked, and turned to look at Loki. Looking back at him was not the strangely pale, black eyed fish-man he had just left the ocean floor with. Instead, it was a face he had seen once before. Same long black hair, but he now looked back with vivid green eyes. His skin was much closer to a human's, rather than the almost green tinted color it was before.   
  
"I... I saw you!" Anthony sputtered, swimming closer to inspect his changed companion. "You were in the market place on Soay."   
  
Loki smiled slowly, but it never reached his eyes. His voice came out much smoother, and deeper than it had in the water. "I was looking for a ship captain to take me where I needed to go. No one was kind enough to assist me."   
  
Anthony wanted to laugh, he really did, but Loki looked so disappointed in humanity—again— that he could not bring himself to do it. After all, he himself had to be bribed to help Loki, and he did not doubt that his answer would have been a 'no' if the strange man had come up to him on Soay to ask for free passage to some unknown place.   
  
"We are a selfish lot, us pirates. You chose the wrong harbor to ask for help in," Anthony said with a apologetic smile. "You could have gone around the world with the gold you have down there, though. Next time, try offering some of that."   
  
"There will never be another time."   
  
Loki turned away from him, his movements noticeably less smooth as they were under the water. He pointed out to sea, and Anthony saw his ship precisely where he had left it. It was a sight for sore eyes, if ever there were, and Anthony only had a small moment to enjoy it before the merman was swimming away without a single glance back to see if he was following. Anthony set out after him, finding muscles to be oddly strong and lacking in their usual aches he got after a long day. For being tethered under the ocean for some time and apparently poisoned, he was feeling oddly healthy.   
  
How long had he been down there, anyway? How many days was he unconscious, just bobbing around above his rock.   
  
"Oi!" He called out to the back of Loki's head. "Oi, wait..."   
  
Loki turned sharply and came to a full stop. Anthony made a mental note of the fact that Loki, apparently, did not need to tread water, but simply always stayed level with the waves.   
  
"How long have I been under there with you?"   
  
"How long? I know not."   
  
"Do you not measure time under the sea?"   
  
Loki narrowed his eyes and turned back around, taking off again at a much faster speed. Apparently, that was one of those questions he was not allowed to ask.   
  
Anthony bit the inside of his cheek, hoping to ease his ever rising frustration. He bobbed in the water for a moment before starting out again after the creature he really knew nothing about, and was about to let aboard his precious ship for a journey he did not even know the destination of.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
A shout went up as soon as they drew close enough for someone to spot them, and Loki pressed closer to him suddenly. Anthony gave him a look, trying to gauge just how fake his mask of fear was, and wondered if maybe he actually was as terrified as he looked.  
  
"Do not fret," he said with his usual soothing smile, "I won't let them hurt you."  
  
Loki's eyes locked into his and he spoke in a small voice, "you cannot promise me this."  
  
A rope was already being tossed over the side, slapping the water loudly next to their heads. Anthony spared a moment to touch Loki's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.  
  
"I can promise you I will do my best to keep you safe, I can offer nothing better than my best."  
  
Loki simply nodded, not looking comforted at all. Someone was calling down to them, and Anthony forced out a wide, cheerful grin before looking up and waving at a familiar face.  
  
"I thought you would have left, by now!" He called out, twisting the rope around his arm and pulling Loki against his body.  
  
"Not without you, Captain!" Natasha called back, a rare smile on her face.  
  
"We drank all your wine!" someone else yelled from above.  
  
Anthony narrowed his eyes and gave the rope a violent tug. "What sort of mutiny is this?!"  
  
"We thought you dead, so we held a wake," Thor said, his grinning face popping over as he pulled on the rope. Loki instantly tensed up beside Anthony, distracting him from his retort.  
  
"You did not tell me you had..." he began with a hiss.  
  
"Had?"  
  
But Loki's lips were clamped shut, the faint pink of them going white as he pressed them together. If he looked fearful before, he looked ready to faint now. Anthony watched him, a hint of fear growing in the pit of his stomach.  
  
What would Loki do, if there was something disagreeable on board his ship? He had seen those sharp teeth, those quick movements he would never be able to keep up with. If Loki decided to attack, they were all in extreme danger.  
  
"I said I would protect you," he reminded Loki in a whisper, not taking his eyes off of him as they lifted out of the water. The rope stung against the bare skin of his arm, and the weight of them both was almost too much for his shoulder to hold. He grunted as they were jerked up against the side of the ship, kicking his feet out to catch them before they smashed into a gun port.  
  
"Do you even _know_ what you have on board?" Loki hissed in his ear, his eyes flicking upwards again.  
  
"Ah, I believe a bunch of soon-to-be-bald bastards who drank all my wine."  
  
Loki make a noise in the back of his throat, and tucked his face into the crook of Anthony's neck, sending a familiar shiver down his spine. About to comment on it, he leaned his face closer to speak before he was interrupted by shouts from above.  
  
"Ferrous!"  
  
"Captain!"  
  
"Wine-thieving Blackguards!" He shouted back and glared at the lot of them as Thor hauled them over the rail. The blond simply laughed and slapped him on the back, nearly sending him face first into the deck.  
  
"Who's the water-logged pasty boy you got here?" Natasha asked with a nod to his companion.  
  
Anthony opened his mouth to introduce Loki, when Thor let out an explosive gasp.  
  
"YOU!?"  
  
Loki flinched and ducked behind Anthony. A difficult task, considering that the man was three times as tall as Anthony.  
  
"You know him?" He asked, looking between them incredulously. How small was this world, truly?  
  
"Ferrous, this man is not what you think..." Thor muttered in a dark voice, his usual bright and cheerful eyes flashing dangerously. "He is not even—"  
  
"His _name_ is Loki," Anthony interrupted quickly, putting one hand on Loki's shoulder and meeting Thor's eyes with a warning look. "and I think he could use a change of clothes before we discuss this further, Thor."  
  
"I... but..." he stumbled to a stop and opened and closed his mouth a few times before giving up and biting his lip.  
  
"Excellent, let us do that, and then we shall catch up." He turned to Loki and asked him, "Sound good?"  
  
Loki simply nodded and continued to press against him like a frightened child, eyes turned down and body hunched inwards. Anthony pulled him along to his cabin, ignoring the questioning looks from his other mates. As soon as he opened the door, he saw just how thoroughly ransacked his cabin had been in his absence. He made a quick judgment of what was missing before leading the taller man over to his piles clothing.  
  
"I do not pretend to have any idea what _that_ was all about, but I do know this..." he dug around and pulled out a shirt, giving it a dirty look before turning around to address Loki, "none of my clothes will fit you well."  
  
Somewhere between the outside and the in, Loki found his energy again and was snooping. His face was all but pressed up against a small portrait of his family that he usually left facing down, but had come up somehow in the pillaging of his stuff. Loki's eyes were wide and curious, and if Anthony didn't know that they usually ran black and deep, he would find them almost charming.   
  
"Loki."  
  
The man looked up sharply, placed the portrait down, and moved over to him in one quick movement.  
  
"Your family," he stated, rather than asked.  
  
Anthony looked over his shoulder at the picture and scowled. "Maybe once, but no more. Anyway, about the shirt, you—"  
  
"How are they no more?"  
  
" _Don't,_ " Anthony warned, his hands that were holding the shirt up falling down to his side. He felt deflated just thinking about them again. Why did they continue to plague his mind today?  
  
Loki was getting closer again and Anthony really needed to speak to him about leaving space between one another when they talked.  
  
"Did they pass on?" Loki asked, his voice oddly soft with the question. So the merman could sense moods, and expand his emotional array past curious and angry. That was good to know.  
  
"Yes and no and I do _not_ want to talk about it," Anthony replied in a low voice. He did not care that the being before him could probably break neck in a second, or bite its way through a limb with a single chomp. He did _not_ speak about his parents, not to anyone, and least of all to a strange fish-man he had met only today. Or what might have been a few days, he really needed to ask someone about that.   
  
Loki was still staring down at him, their noses almost touching he was so close. His mouth had drawn into a tight line and his eyes bore holes into Anthony. He really wanted his answer, and Anthony was starting to wonder if one of those two violent options were going through the merman's mind at this point.  
  
"The shirt..." he mumbled weakly, pulling it up between them like a barrier. "Try it?"  
  
"Aaannnnthooonnyyyy," he replied in a low growl, "how do I use this?"  
  
He blinked and looked between Loki and the shirt. "What?"  
  
"What _is_ this?" Loki pointed at the shirt, asking again, "How do I use this?"  
  
"Well, you... are you not wearing one of your own? How do you not know?"  
  
Loki looked down with a hiss and pulled at his shirt. It was still damp and clung to his skin, no, wait, it _was_ his skin. The folds pulled away from his form but a little, yet Anthony could see no seam against his neck. It simply blended into the fleshy tones of his chest and arms.  
  
"Oh gods... that... no, make _that_ stop," Anthony choked and reached out to poke one of the folds of black fabric. It felt like fabric, to a point, but it squished like flesh under his finger. "Oh please, just take these away. That is far too alarming, even for me."  
  
Loki gave him a bemused smile, and the fake fabric faded into his body, leaving nothing but bare skin. Anthony did not take the chance to admire the body before him, at least not for too long before he pulled the loose tunic over Loki's head. Only the black hair stuck out from the top and Loki started to flail around making high pitched keening noises.  
  
"Oi, stop that... _stop that_! Just hold still and I shall fix it!"  
  
Loki flailed some more, knocking several things from his desk to the floor with a crash. Anthony just managed to grab the bottom of the shirt with the intention to yank it down when the door burst open and a wild head of blond hair came through it.  
  
"Ferrous?!"  
  
"T-Thor? Gods be damned, can you not see I am—" he cut off with a grunt when Loki smacked him in the head with a flailing limb. Enough was enough, and Anthony gave the shirt a mighty tug, releasing a very startled Loki from the top. He was panting, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide.  
  
"You... seek to trap me?!" He hissed, backing away and pulling at the tunic.  
  
"No, no!" Anthony replied quickly, ignoring Thor's irritated grunt and approaching Loki with his hands up in a peaceful gesture. "This is how a shirt is worn, see?"  
  
He pulled at his red –probably ruined— wet shirt and started to unbutton it. Loki stared at him, his eyes following every button down until Anthony pulled the shirt open and shucked it off to the floor with a wet thump.  
  
"See? They come and go. Not a trap, just clothing."  
  
"Not a trap," Loki repeated, still looking doubtful.  
  
"Ferrous..." Thor rumbled from behind them, and Loki tenses instantly. "You know of what he is?"  
  
Anthony was still focused on Loki's face, seeking permission to admit what he knew, but Loki just stubbornly stared at the amulet against his bare chest and said nothing.  
  
"Yes, I suppose I do," he answered slowly and turned to look at Thor. "How do you know what he is?"  
  
Thor, usually one to brag about his knowledge, clamped his mouth shut and continued to glare at Loki over his shoulder.  
  
It was a heavy silence before Loki spoke softly, " _he_ is not who you think he is."  
  
"What?" Anthony furrowed his brow and looked between them. "Please tell me he is not a mermaid, that would really be too much for me. Wait,” he narrowed his eyes at Thor, “is _that_ why you never bathe?!"  
  
  
"I am no such abomination," Thor growled, his expression growing somber, and with it the sky outside seemed to darken. The ship started to sway as the wind picked up and tossed the sea around.  
  
Anthony looked to Loki, fear and desperation filling him as he tried to seek answers he did not truly want to know. "What is he...?"  
  
Loki looked up at last, his bright green eyes focusing directly on Thor for the first time since he boarded. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, but it was as bitter and loveless as his voice.  
  
"He is my brother, and a god."  
  


 


End file.
